Alone
by yseult
Summary: As the Arrow follows up on a new drug dealer in town, things go horribly wrong. Angsty whump with a side of hurt/comfort for your reading pleasure. Open to prompts and requests as to where this story will end.
1. Chapter 1

Note: An absence of whump and angst in this particular fandom led me to this. Oh, and watching Season 1 again after the mid-season finale left me utterly destroyed. Read and please leave a review and tell me what you think. I will try to update quickly, but with the Christmas break, bear with me. Thanks and ... enjoy the season!

* * *

><p>A soft drizzle had wrapped itself around Starling City, covering the city in a nightly orange-tinted glow, accentuating all artificial light sources like only a autumn shower could. The air was saturated with cool humidity and a barely comfortable stinginess.<br>All of this and a another long string of further detail registered in his mind as he stood at the rim of a four-story building right where the famed Glades bordered the rest of the city with its business district further east. His conscious attention was turned elsewhere however. Tonight it was turned intently on the alleyway below him. Barely lit, most of the light sources shot out by local low life, it was coated in the same humid blanket than the rest of the city. Opening towards one of the main avenues that led into the main of the city, the further end of the alleyway was blocked by grates and various dumpsters… a perfect meeting place for paranoid drug dealer and other criminals that preferred controllable surroundings and avoidable surprises. Right below him was the entrance to the run down building he was standing on. Declared dangerous after the Undertaking that killed so many people, the building had been closed down by the authorities… but as with many things in the Glades, appearances were misleading and so the building was off-limits for the Police patrols… but not for local criminals or as tonight drug sellers and traffickers to meet and plot the possibilities of furthering their business ventures.  
>And so, various chatter had indicated a first meeting between a new player from Coast City and the local Russian mob. Things had been slow going in the last few weeks, while the Arrow had managed to establish a semblance of quite in the city and crime rates were at a low. Perfect timing for a new, daring hard-ball mastermind from the outside to come to Starling City to try and make a name for himself.<p>

But the Vigilante that had assumed protection of his city, had a word to say about that. _Several in fact…_, he thought as he checked flechettes, arrows, quiver and arrow heads in an automated and established order. Anatoly Knyazev, local leader of the Bratva had entered barely five minutes ago, accompanied with several of his lower level soldiers and his lieutenant Vitali Anoshkin.

A studious look towards the skies assured Oliver Queen, better known under his vigilante Alter Ego 'The Arrow', that the drizzle was nowhere ready to stop. It would render every ledge, ever stop, every wall and every step slippery and thus uncontrollably dangerous. For not only for him. His mind went on auto-pilot. Checking window sills, controlling which ones were blocked by wooden panels, which fire escape on which level was still functioning and load bearing, which balcony would make for a good exit point and which emergency exit would make for an assured dead trap. His secondary exit was through the sewer system which was on the same system as the old industrial building turned night club that after being closed forcibly last year, now exclusively served as his and his team's hide-out once more. He was alone tonight. Simple recon. Nothing that would have warranted calling in either Diggle, Felicity or even Roy.

In truth, when he had built this life for himself, had imagined it on the island or the months in Hong-Kong, never had he thought of people at his side. In his mind, he was alone. No strings, but also no danger. No vulnerability. No accountability either. But life had played out differently, and he had needed help. And while he was infinitely grateful for everything his friends did for him and the Arrow, by putting everything at stake for him and his persona, he felt crowded sometimes.  
>The island had changed him. And while he did enjoy the proximity of people, the fact that someone cared about him, at the same time the smallest part of him felt secluded by it at times. This. Here. Alone on a rooftop. A hunter with his objective. This was the one thing he had always been sure of. The one thing that had always come back to. Like the physical exertion of a ruthless and unforgiving workout would dull his senses and border on self-punishment for former sins, the lone hunt helped him to focus.<p>

And so, he was alone that night. Just him, the rain, his bow and a group of criminals that needed pruning.

Two cars pulled up into the alley below him and a cautiously stepped back onto the roof to avoid detection, the gravel under his boots was the only sound he made.

"Here we go."

The words crossed his mouth in a silent whisper out of pure habit only to realise a split second later that there was nobody on the other side of a radio to hear them.

Tonight, he was alone. And he relished the thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Thank you for all your Favs and Follows. Keep on telling me what you think. Things are getting pretty hairy pretty quickly now. ;-)

* * *

><p>"Let's talk business then." Anatoly Knyazev's suave Russian accented baritone carried well across the open space of the first floor where most of the separation walls had been torn down by use or darker concerns.<br>The small gesture that accompanied his words, carried to a small table where two water glasses holding a clear liquid were waiting for eager consumption.

"I didn't come all this way to drink."

The reply came from the closest row of windows where a single man stood contemplating the street outside and the city beyond.

"We are Russians and this is Starling City. You may be somebody in Coast City. Here you are but a newcomer that we know little to nothing about."

The expensive leather on a pair of exquisite designer loafers lightly creaked as their wearer crossed the mouldy, dusty and littered floor to where Anatoli and Vitali were standing in wait for him.

"Then let me introduce myself to you. My name is Alexander Snyder and I am the one man that will put Starling city at your feet, rife for the picking. Any kind of medical narcotics is my game. I have heard of your city and your… rules. And yes, I have also heard of your local comic character roaming the city. I do not care for either of them."

Slowly, step by step, Snyder approached the camping table set up for them, turning his jet black eyes on Anatoli.  
>He was a tall, lean man with a hard jawline and an air of disdain playing across his features out of habit. This wasn't your ordinary drug runner. This was the man pulling string and mixing with the 1-percenters. His attire said as much. A dark blue designer suit was barely hidden under a camel coloured cashmere coat that would have better fitted into a chic restaurant or dinner party rather than into a dingy, run-down building in the worst parts of Starling City.<br>However… he moved with the ease and poise of someone that was used to fighting, his eyes measuring every inch around him, assessing his surroundings at any given moment. Like a coiled snake, hiding its deadly bite, Alexander Snyder crossed over social boundaries and into contrasting circles without ever losing a stride. And he clearly wasn't used to being treated like a newcomer.

With as much contempt that such a gesture could hold, he grabbed the glass destined for him and with a voiceless snark downed the high percentage vodka.

Anatoli narrowed his eyes, but followed suit.

"You talk. A lot. Why come to me? Why come to Bratva?"

The question elicited a wide smile.

"Because you, my friend, are the only organisation that your comic book wanna-be vigilante hasn't taken out of business yet. I suspect… you are protected?"

Vitali Anoshkin's square Ukrainian jawline tensed so badly that even the Arrow, perched up high in the dark rafters didn't miss it.

"What are you implying?" Anatoli's reply was immediate. "That we took out the Chinese, the Italians, Count Vertigo by means of a vicious killer dressed up like… Robin Hood?" Deep laughter echoed through the floor. "That is a great idea. Why did I not think of that?" The laugh however, never quite reached Anatoli's eyes as he and Snyder continued their discussion.

No sound gave away his position as the Arrow slowly shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He was used to movement and remaining perched in the air was not a comfortable position for him. Being stable to long made him twitchy. He was tensed like his compound bow, ready as a half-second's notice. It was one of his most important qualities. The one that could decide over whether he would live or die.

He made a mental note on Snyder's remark about the vigilante staying clear of the Starling antenna of the Russian mafia. It was true that as a … honorary… member of the Bratva, he had used them several times for leads. Had. He didn't intend on doing so again after falling out with their leader over services rendered. But, they hadn't crossed his path in any particular way. The Bratva hadn't been connected to the Undertaking and their activities - while being operated out of the Glades - were centered in other parts of the city, mainly the docks. But it was true. Out of all organised crime clans, the Russians had remained relatively unscathed from the Arrow's actions of the last 2 years.  
>He squared his shoulders. He had to move positions if he wanted to avoid detection.<p>

"Mister Snyder… I am… underwhelmed. You haven't gotten to the part where you explain to us what is in it for Bratva." Anatoli had had about enough of this meeting. He was cold and his already short temper hadn't been particularly impressed with this designer drug dealer.

"40 percent of on any given shipment coming in through the ports and being distributed by you and your guys. Provided … you pass my test."

Again the Russian mobster narrowed his eyes at Snyder and then with a silent mark, Vitali sidestepped. A disdainful expression on his face, both square shouldered Russians turned their backs on Alexander Snyder and both his bodyguards and slowly started to walk away.

The show of disdain and dismissal was unmistakable. Unmissable. For these battle tried mobsters, it was their particular way of an undisguised 'go to hell'.

"Boss…?" Snyder's goons were shocked at the lack of respect shown and were just about ready to storm after the two mobsters.

Oliver hadn't counted on Anatoli and Vasili cutting their meeting so short. He heard them walk out just behind him and he was stranded on the stairwell, his back turned on them.

He froze in his tracks, voluntarily giving his opponents time to react and for him to plot his attack. With a side thought he berated himself while acknowledging that his plans to hit the Bratva would come to realisation much quicker than he had initially wished for.

"Well, well… we were just talking about you.", came the sardonic phonetically unmistakable remark from slightly below him on the staircase. The Arrow had turned himself sideways as was his habit, his dark green hood hiding his profile just enough for people to guess his strong chin and the tip of his nose.

"How flattering." came the digitally altered reply, as gloved fingers tensed around the grip of his bow and in the same second a green tipped arrow was readied. Guns were drawn and on cue Snyder's men joined the stand-off. For the length of a few seconds seven men stood facing each other, the silence in the open stairwell becoming unbearable until the smallest motion of detaching fingers and relaxing muscles set it all off.

The arrow lodged itself into the wall beside Snyder's head prompting a triumphant sneer from the drug dealer.

"Missed!"

It was all that he could manage before his triumph turned to shock as the arrow exploded in a small, contained ball of fire sending wood splinters and wall debris in all directions.

The Arrow used the distraction to send a decided kick into Vitali who was standing on the foot of the stairs a few steps below him. He hoped to send him into Anatoli, but failed to effectively do so. A fact that he only realised a split second later as, already on top of the mid-level landing, a sharp pain ripped through his arm. The impact propelled him into the wall, leaving blood all over the peeled crepis. He turned around to check on who was standing where below him, before retreating up the stairs. In the same movement, he managed to pull another explosive dart from his hip quiver with his injured arm, lodging it into the top of the second story landing. All without ever losing a step.

Anatoli bounded up the steps, two of Snyder's men following suit, without a moment's hesitation. He was elated. As much as his stern Russian mind would allow him to: he had shot the Arrow. The people that could claim as much were few and hard to come by in Starling City. He ran onto the landing his Yarygin 9 millimetre drawn to his chest only to see the door to the roof entrance close shut. But he called the bluff and instead turned towards the end of the hallway where a second staircase led back down into the lower floors and the basement below.

Knyazev fired off another round only half a second before the second arrow exploded behind him, effectively cutting him off from the stairs. The compressed air send the mob leader flying into the lateral wall of the hallway, leaving him a panting, crumpled mess.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Thank you for your encouragements. Leave me a review to tell me what you think. Some Oliver whump incoming. There really isn't enough of that in this fandom ;-)

* * *

><p>The second story lading exploded somewhere above him, but the Arrow was already at the cellar access door. That's when he realised that something was fundamentally wrong as his peripheral vision became first soft, then fuzzy and then a series of dark spots made him reach for his eyes.<br>The adrenaline rushing through his system pushed him along however.

_Later. Focus. There's no back up. Move._

Without a sound he disappeared behind the door, leaving Snyder, his hired guns, Anatoly Knyazev and Vitali Anoshkin behind him.

While the drizzle outside had managed to coat all of Starling City in its mist, the humidity hadn't stopped on street level and the walls of the unlit corridor were covered in dark and uncomfortable humidity.

Oliver pulled a glow stick from a small pocket in his sleeve and a low green luminescence flooded his immediate surroundings. Verdant and thus the old steel factory's underground access were only 2 blocks away, bearing south. From prior casing and his highly trained sense of orientation, he knew that now he was facing out east. He had memorised the plans and in principle knew which turns to take to end up just shy a few feet of the south alleyway entrance of what Roy reverently called the Arrow cave.

In principle.

That had been before his heart had decided to pound a dub step in his chest.

He let go of the breath that he had been holding and by tipping the glow stick to his right started to examine his arm. He could feel the blood slowly drenching the inside of his right sleeve from the inside. The 9mm bullet had gone neatly through, ripping two wholes into his leather jacket and the muscles below. Muscles that now were cramping shut from the pain. He willed his instinct to open the jacket and investigate further, away. The tight leather would keep pressure on the general area around the wound. It would have to be enough. For now.  
>He instinctively flexed his hand, sending a sharp pain up to his shoulder and back down his right flank.<p>

_That can't be right._

And then the ground gave way under him with a shocking simplicity. The glow stick clattered to the floor, spreading its green light onto dark, humid concrete somewhere to his left.

His good hand found its way to his right side. It came back drenched in blood, another tell-tale hole just below his ribcage speaking louder than any words could have.

Oliver started to curse under his breath. He was on the floor of an access tunnel, alone, in the dark and for a split second he doubted he would ever be able to get up into walking position again. It was a simple reaction of fear to a present danger. And it lasted a small second. Until his survival instincts, so admirably honed by years of training, kicked in, overriding doubts and fears.

_I need to get up._

_Come on. Get up._

Clearly, the verbal prompt wasn't enough for his body to decide moving. How could he have been so stupid. So reckless. There was no such thing as a simple action or a simple mission anymore. Not when it involved the Arrow. Not now. Not ever.

His mind was running at a galloping pace, realising how breathing became harder and harder, how turning on his back made it that much easier, and how he had already trouble focusing on anything more than breathing. Soon he would pass out. Blood loss. And now the following adrenaline crash.

Alone. On the floor of an underground tunnel.

_Stupid. Oh, so stupid._

Oddly enough the voice in his head took the intonation of the voice that would in normal circumstance be filling his ear.

Felicity.

The thought of her brought a semblance of focus and somehow, he managed to push himself into a sitting position, putting as much pressure on his right side to stem some of the profuse bleeding. Cold sweat was covering his face, ran down his back, under an already clammy jacket. Breathing suddenly seemed to be the most impossible task at hand.

He was wrong. Getting up proved to be even more impossible. And yet… ever so slowly, ever so impossibly painful, he got up on his knees giving himself enough space to fish for his mobile phone in one of his left side pockets. One bar.

_Roy._

He would be at the foundry. The young vigilante apprentice that had chosen the underbelly of the former steel plant picked up after 10 rings. 10 rings that drove the shard of slow despair deeper with every ring into Oliver's mind.

"What's up?"

"Roy. I've been shot." What sounded like a perfectly fine sentence in his head, came out with the phonetics of a hoarse whisper laced with pain and exertion. "Underground sewer access tunnel under 4th and Main."

"Hang tight.", came the curt reply with a steady undertone that surprised Roy himself, seeing as his heart had just dropped somewhere under the soles of his sneakers. Even before Oliver had hung up, Roy was up and running towards the south alleyway exit, keying in the code.

The door slid open with a heavy, creaking sound and off he stormed, leaving it open deliberately. John Diggle would get the hint. The message that he sent him was short. And clear.

911. Foundry. Now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note:** Thank you for reviewing and your favourites. You guys are amazing. I have another sidenote: yes, I know that Diggle carries a Glock 19 and not a SIG Sauer, but hey, I am Swiss. So there. ;-)  
>Also: this chapter is a bit longer as you seem to wish ever so longingly for longer chapters. You wish is my command. Leave me your reviews and thoughts!<p>

* * *

><p>As Diggle came pounding down the metal staircase leading down from the ground floor, he was surprised to find that Roy wasn't there. His quarters were empty, his bed unmade. That circumstance simply added another layer to his worry that had been sourced only minutes before by a text message that had him running for the door without a moment's hesitation.<p>

Through habit, his eyes checked for any sign of intrusion or a fight while his mind played through possible scenarios. That's when he realised that the back alley door was wide open leaving cool and misty air to flood the otherwise dark and warm underbelly of the steel factory.

He had barely made it out of the door when he saw a heavily charged Roy emerging from the steep stairwell in the middle of the alley where, under a steel grate, it granted access to the underground tunnel system favoured by Oliver to appear in various parts of the city unseen.

Roy was carrying none other than Oliver Queen in his full Arrow attire over his shoulder, his bow draped over his other shoulder.

And struggling.

John was with them in two strides and together they eased an unconscious Oliver down on the cold and musty concrete floor of the foundry. Diggle hadn't spoken a single word yet and with the expert eyes of a combat proven soldier and the Arrow's partner for years, checked on Oliver's wounds.

"He's lost too much blood already. We cannot deal with this on our own. Go grab his street clothes." And after a closer look at Roy. "And a new sweat shirt for yourself."

Roy stood and did as he was told. Only once he stood, did he realise why he was supposed to change… his left shoulder, front and sleeve was drenched in Oliver's blood, leaving a trail of dark stains on the red hoodie. So much blood.

"Man. What have you been doing, Oliver?" Diggle's murmured words were left unanswered as he he slowly and ever so carefully started to open the dark emerald leather jacket of the fabled Starling City vigilante. The amount of blood that greeted him was unnerving. So unnerving that he once more checked his friend's pulse. It was still there. Even if to him it seemed weaker than only moments before.

"Hurry, Roy. Come on!"

The nervousness in his voice betrayed him and he continued to open various zippers on the leather combination that made up the Arrow suit. Diggle, with Roy's help, tried to extract Oliver from his leather jacket which was a tight fit in any circumstance, but now it proved almost impossible.  
>The jostling and pulling dragged Oliver from his unconsciousness. The pain was unbearable, and Diggle immediately saw that his whole right flank was hard and extremely tender. Internal bleeding.<p>

This is bad.

"Hey, Oliver. Stay with me." He grabbed Roy's discarded hoodie and pressed it over the wound just below Oliver's ribs. The pain exploded in every nerve ending at once and his last strength went into a cry of pain. He grabbed Diggle's jacket with his good hand, holding on for sheer sanity, before his body went limp once more.

"Just hold on, Oliver. Hold on."

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

Barely ten minutes later, the two friends stood outside of the large entry area of the former nightclub part of the building. Together, they had managed to carry Oliver there. They had exchanged only very few words, Diggle clearly in charge and Roy mirroring him.  
>Oliver had stirred only once more, never regaining consciousness, muttering a few barely understandable words. Among them only one stood out to John.<p>

Alone.

No, buddy. You're not alone.

In the close quarters of his mind, it sounded like a blessing. And surely tonight, they could use all the blessings they could think of if one of their own, their leader, would pull through.

"Ready…?"

"For what, Dig?". Roy looked at him quizzically, clearly missing a step.

Diggle stood from the wounded body of his best friend and folded a small blood transfusion bag as small as he could make it to fit in his pant pockets. He had just finished emptying its contents, Oliver's stored blood, onto the pavement around his inert body. They had to make this look real. For all their sakes. And for Oliver's safety. Roy's blood stained hoodie was pressed over the wound in his side. And Roy assumed his place, putting as much pressure on the wound as he could with one hand while he pulled out his phone.

"Call 911. Now."

Said it and with the same conviction, Diggle pulled out his SIG, pointed it into the sky and fired off two rounds even before Roy was done dialing the number.

"911. What is your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance to 6th and Main. Oliver Queen has been shot in front of the old nightclub Verdant. Hurry!"

And with that he hung up without bothering to give his name. He glanced up towards Diggle, waiting for him to explain the rest of the plan.

"OK. I'm leaving now and will come back once I see that the Police are here. It'll give you a timeline. You have been attacked by kidnappers. You were accompanying Oliver to his former club to check that there hadn't been any break-ins lately when you were attacked. You both tried to fight them. They shot him and ran off. Then you called 911 and then me. Got it?"

The two men locked gazes, unspoken assurances passing between them.

"He will be fine." Diggle's lacked the conviction he wished to convey, but somehow couldn't. "He's been through worse." Again the words sounded wrong and hollow.

Roy only nodded his reply, putting his hand on Oliver's chest as if the fact of touching his friend and mentor would be able to keep him there, keep him fighting, keep him from… dying.

And for the first time since he had gotten Oliver's call barely 20 minutes ago, his mind accepted the unthinkable, the impossible consequence as a possibility.

The sirens in the distance announced the ambulance from Glade Memorial and when he looked back up, Diggle had already vanished.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

"Listen, you don't need to tell me that you can't tell me anything. I know that, I just want to know where my friends are… oh, forget about it."

The blonde, tall woman, sent another dagger-laced look at the male nurse manning the desk at the general admittance desk at Glade Memorial Hospital, before storming off into the main lobby and the row of lifts beyond.

She couldn't help but fidget with her fingers while she waited for the next lift to open. With the other she sent a desperate text message to John Diggle's phone.

Where …?!

The reply was immediate.

10th floor, surgical waiting area. No news.

Bless John Diggle, for thinking to reassure her even if it was just through a text message. Felicity Smoak drew a deep breath before entering the lift that had taken way too long to arrive and now obviously, took way too long to get to where she needed to be.

She had gotten an unsettling phone call from Diggle just before, what normal people would call 'the middle of the night' and what for her barely approached the end of her normal working day. Except today.  
>Today, they had all decided on a night off. Which happened rarely enough. But had seemed like a great idea to allow for a change of ideas. Except for Oliver. Of course. While everyone else was out and enjoying their free evening, he had obviously decided that his evening off would consist of getting shot.<p>

Another slow breath helped her break through her rambling thoughts just before the lift doors slid open on the surgical floor. The second she stepped out of the hospital lift and set eyes on Roy and Diggle, she knew.

This wasn't their usual scary, 'it's not as bad as it looks, I'll be up in a minute'-situations. This was real.

Roy's usually crimson red hoodie sleeves were stained a darker shade of red while his face in contrast was competing with the wall behind him in levels of whiteness. Diggle appeared to be his stoic self. Arms crossed, he was standing beside Roy as if he was waiting for his younger companion to topple over.

"Digg! Roy!"

Felicity's arrival snapped both men from their state of numbness.

"Felicity. He's in surgery now."

"What happened?! And don't you tell me you don't know…!" That had come out wrong.

"I'm sorry. Guys." Diggle nodded at her uncrossing his arms, letting his guard down.

"It's ok, Felicity. Really." He stepped closer to her. "Oliver' been shot. He must have gone out for intel or something. He called Roy, but he was already in really bad shape." His voice dropped to a low whisper, to avoid bystanders to hear. "Way beyond anything we could have dealt with on our own."  
>Diggle stared intently at Felicity whose face had just assumed a statue-like quality.<p>

"Do you understand what I am trying to tell you? Felicity…?"

All she managed was a small nod. She felt like the world had suddenly stopped spinning and was sending her into an endless hole as string of dark consequences of Diggle's words started to close in on her.  
>But Felicity and Diggle shared a particular bond. One that had been forged through so much fight and personal suffering. He knew her too well and before she could collapse or worse, he grabbed her elbow softly and guided her towards the chairs of the waiting room where Roy had sat down as well.<br>He checked his phone again. Roy had taken it on himself to try and reach Thea. But as so many times before, her number went straight to voicemail and he hadn't found the strength to leave a message yet.

Diggle had his arm draped around Felicity, and over her blond hair, he shot a look at Roy who silently shook his head. They had done what had been in their power to save Oliver. Now, all that was left to do, was wait. For news. Of any kind. While Oliver, in one of the surgery theatres was left fighting for his life.

Alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** Thank you for your reviews and Favs. They are very much appreciated and help drive me along.

* * *

><p><em>… Shot in front of his former nightclub in the Glades, Verdant. The Police have not been forthcoming with any details about the shooting involving the former billionaire, but unofficial sources seem to suggest that this was an attempted kidnapping gone bad. Oliver Queen is at Glades Memorial in critical condition. We will give you the updates as we get them…"<em>

"Or not." Diggle had finally found the off-button of the waiting area television where Oliver's old company picture had been flashed beside an exterior shot of Verdant with Policemen securing the perimeter. He hadn't counted on the press picking up on the shooting so quickly and he silently berated himself for such a slip up. Ever since the loss of Queen Consolidated and the integrity of all personal assets, the press' interest in 'Oliver Queen, the socialite' had dwindled until he had been nothing more than a footnote. It must have been a very slow night for the TV news to run this so fast. John slowly tried to stretch out his ever so tense neck muscles as he sat back down on the chairs lining two walls of a not too large waiting area. Felicity had taken off her heels, dropping them somewhere under her chair on which she now sat with crossed legs, lost in thought, absentmindedly chewing on the nail of her thumb. Roy seemed to be slumbering in the seat beside him, slouched, his head resting on his chest and the back of the chair.

Seemed. Because nothing was further from Roy's mind than resting. Not while one of the most important people in his life was fighting for his life. Without the Arrow, without Oliver Queen, he was nothing. Had been nothing. A petty criminal that had nothing to gain from life than dishing out what he himself received: nothingness. And then, he had been saved by the vigilante, by what others called a killer of killers.

Nothing would ever be the same after that night in the old, abandoned subway system of Starling City.  
>Roy Harper knew that he would spend the rest of his life to try and repay that dept to himself, to Oliver and to his city. He never had been able to understand how or why it had happened. How such a leap in confidence, advance in trust had been possible. It had changed him. Forever. He would be ready for anything for his mentor. Follow him to the ends of the world and beyond, but tonight he had been left behind…<p>

_"What are you gearing up for…? Weren't we all to take a night off?" The question bounced off of the neon lights that had just been turned on in the middle of the nerve center of the Arrow cave where he and Oliver occupied different corners as they had nowhere else to live at this point. It had the inconvenience that nothing really was missed by the other. They would have to decide on a way to handle things should they ever decide to make space in their lives for a woman or else things would get very awkward very quickly. _

_"Just a quick patrol." Oliver had his back turned to him, stacking his flechettes to his sleeve. "I need to move. Get some air." An amused smile was painted all over his face as he turned around. _

_"Do you want me to come with you?" Oliver only shook his head. "You look like you could use the space." He switched the bow to his left hand and in passing patted Roy on his shoulder and was gone. _

An expecting silence filled the space between the three friends and Roy realised that two expecting pair of eyes were trailed on him. Clearly he had missed something.

"What?" Felicity shot him an exasperated look. "I was asking about tonight. Don't you think we should be checking up on whatever it was that had him out in the middle of the night trailing bullets?" She added a tell-tale grimace to the end of her phrase which meant to prompt Roy into an answer.

Instead it was Diggle that spoke first.

"I have a feeling we are about to find out." Diggle stood and to anybody but his partners, the gesture seemed normal. But for Felicity and Roy his tenseness was immediately apparent. He was taught like Oliver's bow on a good day, ready to act a a split second's notice.

He quickly moved in front of the others as none other than Anatoly Knyazev exited the elevator and spotting him, made down the hallway, a twitch of a smile playing around his otherwise stern features.

"Mister Diggle." The two men nodded in guise of a more formal greeting. "I expected to find you here."

"Can't really say the same thing about you, Mr. Knyazev." Diggle squared his shoulders, at the ready.

"Relax. I am here to check up on my captain. An understandable idea. No?" When nobody replied, Anatoly added with a piercing look straight at Diggle. "I saw the news."  
>When still nobody from the assembled Team Arrow was ready to reply, he continued in his slight Russian accent.<br>"Imagine my surprise. The night I am attacked at a… business meeting… by an emerald archer is the night I learn that one of our captains, none other than Oliver Queen, has been shot. Life is full of impossible coincidences… don't you think?"

Diggle and Roy, independently flexed their jaws. But it was John who replied.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. And so it seems, neither do you."

Anatoly held up a bottle of Pokhlyobkin Vodka that he had disguised in his sleeve.

"Tell him … that his secret is safe with me. And… that I'm sorry for… shooting him." The bottle landed in Diggles hands with a smile. "No hard feelings. Dosvedanya. "

Anatoly was already back in the next elevator when Roy finally recovered his voice. "What the….?", but he was quickly cut short by an impatient Felicity.

"Dig…? John…? What is going on? Does this mean what I think it means…?"

Diggle turned around biting his lower lip a worried look on his face. "Honestly…? I have no idea. But it can't be good."


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** So sorry for not updating sooner, but New Years and all that... plus the murders in Paris (only 500m from where I used to live and where I published my first FanFiction exactly 10 years ago)... it hit very, very close to home.  
>And left me at a bit of a loss as how to continue this story. I am open for ideas or wishes on where you want me to take this.<br>As usual, reviews and remarks and comments are so very much welcome. Peace to you and the people you love.

* * *

><p>They had been waiting for hours and finally the light outside of the corridor windows started to show the dawning morning.<p>

Laurel had arrived sometime during the night and taken her place in their midst as if she had always been there. Only a few words explained the little they themselves knew of what had happened.

Shortly before five in the morning, two police officers of SCPD had come to take Roy's statement which was a short affair. He and Diggle had reviewed the statement that he would give and the invented description of the two kidnappers and with the added nervousness of the tense hours spent waiting for news, Roy had apparently convinced the Police, as they had left satisfied.

Everyone had settled into some seemingness of a dazed slumber or rest at least, as a utterly exhausted Dr. Lockhart approached the waiting area. At the far end of the hallway, just behind him the first rays of the rising sun broke between the tall buildings of downtown Starling City.

In an instant, everyone was on their feet, surrounding the Doctor.

"How is he?"

Diggle was the first to break the question. Lockhart let out an uncomfortable breath.

"Stable so far." And while Diggle didn't move yet, everyone else sighed in relief. "But he's lost a lot of blood. His arm will heal with the proper physical therapy and time, but he won't be lifting any weights any time soon. There was considerable tissue damage. The second bullet shattered a rib and caused some damage to his kidney. Hence the blood loss."

The more he talked, the more the news seemed to get worse. Or so it seemed to Felicity who was barely keeping up.

"… The next hours will be critical." He nodded a short gesture to Diggle who seemed to be the person in charge and massaging a blocked muscle in his neck, walked away to get his well deserved rest, batting away at the murmured thanks of the assembled group.

It was again Diggle who spoke first. "I'll stay with him. You all go home. Get some rest." The result was an onset of refusal, harsh words of return bordering on insults and Felicity who fixed him straight on, standing tall, yet still more than a head shorter than him.  
>"If you think any of us is going home, you can think again. All of this started because we were sent home!" Diggle sighed dejectedly, but it was just an act. "Well, at least I tried…", but Felicity was already gone, following wherever Doctor Lockhart had disappeared to.<p>

She tracked him down in front of the nurse's station where he was signing a chart and pointing to an open door to the left.

Felicity followed the indication and found herself in a dimly lit room, with a single bed. It looked slightly lost amidst a series of monitors and machines tasked with various life supporting tasks.  
>She'd seen her fair share of hurt, injury and life threatening situations and moments, and yet… this was wrong. On so many levels.<p>

"Crazy risks… why? For what?" She wasn't even aware that she had whispered the words out loud, and they hung in the air between her, stuck at the entrance and the bed where a still and silent figure lay unconscious.  
>For a moment, she felt like she couldn't take another step into the room towards that bed. Like it was a physical impossibility. As if it would make it all undeniably real.<br>But it was. Real. There he was, the strongest person she had ever known. The fiercest fighter, she had ever met. The hardest critic, the closest thing to a true hero. Constantly struggling with his guilt, his self-perceived failures, his goals and his self-imposed solitude.  
>And that's when she finally realised… how could she not have seen it? His incapacity to even begin to consider himself deserving of all the good the world and Starling City still had to offer him, had cut him off from all of them. Sure, he was still there after all that had happened. After the death of his mother, the loss of his sister, Deathstroke… and all those dead people that he couldn't save and the ones he had killed. He was convinced that nothing was left in this world that could be pure and true and that would be destined for him. Love, affection, passion.<p>

If she had slept a bit more, or had had some coffee she would probably berate herself for not realising any of this sooner. He'd started to slowly push all of them away because after all that they had been through, he couldn't have her see how much he really tortured himself. How having a team actually made it all that much worse. And that much harder. Having people around, people that cared for him no matter what he did, how hard the choices, or how bad the consequences, it only added to the weight of having to make the in the first place.

Felicity finally took that step deeper into the room, with that thought on her mind. She almost didn't dare to touch his hand, pale and unmoving as it was. So unfamiliar to her. But she did, almost expecting it to find it cold. She pushed the thought away. But it rattled her and before she really knew what she was doing she leaned in, bringing her face almost level to the pale features of Oliver Queen, fallen hero. A face that usually towered above her, always unattainable no matter how high the heels or how wishful her thinking were.

Her lips brushed lightly against his forehead. "You better come back to me, Oliver Queen. "


	7. Chapter 7

Note: Don't know about you, but the current feels of the series has been getting to me a lot. Between the fanboy bickering re: Laurel (I have a mind of writing her a proper Canary story just to piss them off *evil laughter*) and the Olicity pain I am channeling (and I repeat, I am not even a proper shipper)... well, it killed my buzz a bit. But here a finished bit. I might leave it at that and start something new, just to change up paces. Tell me your wishes in the comments. As usual, they are bread and encouragement to a frazzled mind. Peace to your sunday.

* * *

><p>The first sensation that hit his brain and that was sent to be processed by his addled mind was… light. Unforgiving, clear, blinding light. Behind closed eyes. It drove right into his head and down into his mind as slowly instinctive reactions from his body jolted him back into consciousness.<p>

Swallowing… painful. Breathing… excruciating. Eyes… impossible to open.

He instinctively grid his teeth as something to his right seemed to move without his doing so, sending movement through his body that seemed oddly detached from his slowly processing mind and brain.

Familiar whispers… then… a hand on his shoulder. As light and comforting as the shadows usually were to him. But this was something else. Someone else. These were whispers coming out of the light. Drawing him out until finally with an almost deafening intensity his mind decided to piece it all together.

He stifled a painful groan, pressing his eyes shut against a light that threatened to split his head and sanity in two.

At last, he managed an incomprehensible "bright… light…" and then "too much". The whispers were there throughout, until they too warped into a low voice that he would have recognised through anything, anywhere… even at the end of the world and in the midst of personal hell. It was the voice that had guided him through nights and shadows, pain and struggle. The one voice he trusted instinctively. The first in such a long time.

Felicity.

The light disappeared and a comforting "Better…?" reached him through a veil of pain and confusion as he finally opened his eyes to a now almost completely dark room.  
>As they adjusted to the world around him, the shadows seemed filled people and words… so many words… until he managed to separate truth from nightmare and his friends came into focus, one after the other.<p>

They were all there. John, Roy, Laurel… and Felicity who was still standing at his right side, her hand resting in his, grounding him.

"What… happened…?" His voice refused to carry and so he whispered the words out as best as he could. The inside of his mouth had the familiar feel of cotton balls… and it gave him an indication on the type of his pain medication. Morphine.

"We were hoping for you to tell us." Diggle, always straight to the point. Forever the pragmatic. "You called Roy, we cleaned you up and got you to the hospital."  
>And when he saw that Oliver only slowly started to piece things together, he added "You never told us where you went. Remember…?"<p>

"Something you are not to repeat. Ever.", Came a clear request from Felicity.

"I … went to check on a drug meet…", he swallowed hard, "some guy named Snyder from Central City and the Bratva. Leonov shot me. Fluke."

"Yeah. We know." Diggle set down a bottle of something that looked dangerously close to a full bottle of Vodka down on his bedside table and answered his raised brow with: "He does too."

The quizzical look was only eventually replaced by an uncomfortable realisation in Oliver's mind. This was a problem that would have to be addressed later.

"You had us worried." The unusually soft confession from Roy solicited only a frown from Oliver and raised eyebrows from Felicity to which Roy only raised his shoulders in a silent 'what?' reply.

"Well… we'll let you get some rest." Diggle tried to ease the unspoken tension and as slowly everyone got up and even Felicity, albeit seemingly reluctantly started to gather their things and started to leave, John turned back to his friend in the solitary hospital bed.

An earnest look on his face, he fixed Oliver before stating calmly. "You don't get to do that anymore, Oliver. You don't get to go out there alone, take these risks as if there was nobody there with you. You are not on the island anymore. No matter how hard you try to tell yourself that you don't deserve help, or for whatever twisted reason you think you need to be a lone hunter. You're not. And you do. Deserve us."

For a second another million words remained unspoken, before he lightly touched Oliver's shoulder, squeezed it and smiled his usual calm and reassuring smile and left, leaving his friend to his thoughts.

He'd fallen asleep. Or rather slipped out of consciousness. It was shockingly simple. And painless. And comforting. As confusing as that seemed. But, as was usual for him, as soon as his mind approached that threshold between the dulling planes of sleep and the sharp reality of awareness, it snapped him to painful attention in a matter of milli-seconds with not a shade of delay or respite.

With consciousness came the uncomfortable feeling of dull ache and the metallic aftertaste of trauma. The room was still dark and he was alone as he quickly realised. His mind was still addled with pain medication which he had a clear mind to refuse as soon as a doctor would present himself to him. He thought about leaving for a moment, considered it… wished it possible and then with a sigh decided against it.

Diggle's words had stayed with him. But above all else, the slight strain of stress and fear in Felicity's voice had him left wondering just how close he had come to killing himself this time. Not for some big fight or with a big goal… but for a fluke 'accident' that was never supposed to happen this way.  
>And yet it had. For whatever reason. Crazy risks were what they all saw him taking, when in fact all of it was measured and calculated. No. It wasn't the degree of riskiness that he was at odds with or that had pushed him to go out on reconnaissance without backup.<p>

The truth was that not being alone anymore was worse than being on his own. It was that much harder to bear. How broken and damaged… beyond salvation he truly felt. It all became that much heavier on his mind, the closer he seemed to get to anybody around him. He drew a long and slow breath, Diggle telling him that he was deserving of each and everyone of them were not yet ready to leave him and in the darkness for a small moment, all alone, he wondered whether he truly would accept what they meant.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: And now for something completely different. *Chuckles* Still open for prompts.

* * *

><p>"Do you really think that's such a great idea…?" Roy was out of breath and panting he spared a sideways look towards his mentor who seemed to wilfully ignore his question. The red-hooded youngster squared his shoulders and turned around to look at the path that they had taken and that now wound itself down a a slight slope, ever down towards the forest and the city below. Starling lay at his feet, what seemed but a few miles away, but in truth were that many more.<p>

"Perceptions are deceiving…" came a very zen-master-like reflection from somewhere above him on the trail. A sly and warm smile graced Oliver's pale features that were not very much improved by the overcast sky and slightly humid forest air.

"Yeah? Well, my senses are telling me to take you back to Starling…" Roy finally stepped back up to stand beside his mentor.

"I'm fine." Pale, still achy, but healed. "See… I knew you were going to say that.", Roy shot back with a look that seemed only half convinced. "It's been weeks, Roy. Am I still hurting? You bet. But I'll be fine. I… just need to get out. Out of the city, out of the foundry. Out." And without another word, he turned back on the trail that traced their way across patches of deep forrest up a snow tipped mountain. Roy stayed behind wondering for a moment whether this was the island pushing Oliver. Having lived so long with and in nature alone, it wouldn't just leave you.  
>He'd come along because Oliver had asked him, had trusted him to ask him. And for a while it felt like as a mentor he would use this trail to bestow something meaningful on him, his apprentice. But with this small confession of sorts, he quickly realised that this was as much for Oliver's sanity, as it was for his training. And with that thought to consider, he turned back towards the mountain, following in Oliver's footsteps.<p>

* * *

><p>Only a few hours later they were sitting around a campfire, in the middle of the forrest, lost somewhere between huge pine trees and the low hanging clouds.<p>

"Roy." Oliver was sitting opposite Roy and a large boulder, and again his inner snark couldn't help but notice the similarities between a zen master and Oliver right there. Or perhaps a certain green Jedi master?

"I've brought you here for a reason." He tossed a small stone into the fiery embers, before continuing. "Now, Diggle and Felicity already know this, but after weeks between hospitals and physical therapy, I needed to clear through some of my baggage." He flexed his right hand slowly, and hard. The pain in his arm was still there, bearable. Eight weeks was a very small time, considering… and for a second he wondered if he would ever leave that pain behind or if it would remain to remind him of his error of judgement forever. "When I came back from China, I set out to do all of it alone. It all started with my father's list. Right the wrongs he did… to Starling and its people. I never counted to have a team. Let alone… anything resembling what I have now as backup and support." As if to press this point further, he raised his eyes straight at Roy who sat across the flames, listening silently. "That includes… or rather that applies particularly to you. I … would never have thought it possible of being a mentor. I mean, I tried. And failed before. But… in a away…", another sigh, "… I am still the one learning."

There was a pause. A long moment of silence in which he considered on how to go on until he finally seemed to resolve himself. "I wasn't born like this. I was useless when I was stranded on the island and most of what I know to do now, I learnt the very hard way in order to survive. No small thanks to Slade Wilson and his bo staff skills." The remark solicited a knowing smile from Roy. He knew to well of the value of Oliver's staff skills in close quarter combat.

"I am sorry." The sudden apology was lost on Roy and his expression stated as much. "For having you find me the way you did." The explanation did little to explain.

"Are you serious…?" Roy seemed incredulous. "You trusted me. When nobody would. When all I seemed to the world was a low-level street thug. You trusted me. And even when everyone around you… when Sarah… doubted me, you still trusted me. Myrakuru and all. There really is little that you could do that would need apologising."

They both shared a silent smile.

"We trust you, Oliver. We all do. Never forget that."

He wouldn't. Not after being alone almost had him killed. There had been a time where being on his own, following his own crusade, meant risking his own life. But now, people depended on him. People trusted him to make the right decisions and they had set their hopes on him succeeding to do so. Not just his friends, but the people of Starling. He truly had become what his father had hoped for him and so much more. He had righted the wrongs, but he had become a symbol, a guardian angel.


End file.
